


Action

by Hakanaki



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakanaki/pseuds/Hakanaki
Summary: Wash is irredeemably thick-headed, Tucker knows. He doesn’t do well with conversations like this, doesn’t react well to having his insecurities dragged into the light. No, the best way to deal with this right now, he muses, is action.
Oh. Action. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. A very good plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Remember Tuckington Bedsharing Week from last summer? Yeah, well, uh... Merry Christmas? Happy Hanukkah? Have a nice Sunday?

It was all fun and games until Wash’s room was caught in the crossfire.

Actually, it was never fun and games, because seriously, the whole Red vs Blue thing has been over for _literal years _.__ Why Sarge felt the need to do these things remained a mystery. ‘These things’ being flooding the communal bathroom in the Blues’ hallway. The execution was flawless, Tucker has to admit, but there were unexpected consequences. One, the Reds now need to share _their_  bathroom until the plumbing situation is resolved, and two, Wash’s room, with its prime location directly next to the bathrooms, is temporarily ruined.

Tucker doesn’t really see how this is such a bad thing. Red Team means Donut, which means their bathroom is probably way nicer. And as for the second thing, well… Wash will just have to sleep with Tucker.

Wash doesn’t really agree with Tucker’s optimism. It’s frankly insulting how distressed the man is over sharing a bed with his own boyfriend.

“There are rules, Tucker!” Wash stammers again, for like, the fifteenth time. “Rules about fraternization!”

“Wash, _nobody follows those rules_. Except for us. Seriously, it’s the actual worst,” he complains, wrestling his dreads into a bun on the top of his head. “I know for a fact that the cadets are all over each other. Seriously, nobody enforces this rule.”

An uncomfortable look flashes across Wash’s face. Anyone who didn’t know him well would think that he just didn’t want to think about the cadets having sex, which, _ew _,__  but Tucker knows Wash’s facial expressions well enough to catch the hint of guilt in the way his lips quirk downwards in a grimace.

“Waaaait a second. You don’t. Please tell me you don’t, Wash, seriously.” The way Wash refuses to look at him says enough, and Tucker abandons his hair to fling his arms out in exasperation. “Oh my god, Wash, what are you, _the hall monitor?_ Do you go knocking on doors and making sure the kids are in bed at lights out?”

Wash puts a hand to his face, fingers trying and failing to soothe the tense crease he has suddenly developed between his eyebrows. “It’s not… totally like that,” he defends meekly.

Tucker doesn’t deign to give him a response, just finishes tucking his hair into a straining elastic with a flourish. When he looks back up, Wash is still standing there, but with a softer expression on his tired face.

“What? Do I have lint in my hair or something?” he jokes, grinning easily.

“No, it’s just…” Wash makes his way further into the room, stopping in front of Tucker. His hand makes an absent, aborted motion, half gesturing to Tucker’s head. “I’ve never gotten to see your bedtime routine before,” he confesses sheepishly.

Tucker snorts, effectively destroying the whole domestic _thing_  that’s suddenly filled the room. “Dude, that’s your own fault. I’ve been trying to get you to stay the night for weeks. A guy’s gonna start getting ideas, you know?”

Wash’s posture shifts. He brings his hand up to ruffle his hair in a distinctly apologetic gesture and huffs softly. It sounds somewhere between a snort and a pout. Tucker thinks it’s adorable. He reaches out and grabs Wash’s other hand, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscle in his palm.

“Wash. Come here. What’s really going on? Why don’t you want to stay here? Besides the fact that you have the biggest hard-on for regulations in the galaxy.” Tucker isn’t afraid of vulnerability, but he hates the insecure note in his own voice.

Finally, Wash sits down heavily beside him, pressing their thighs together in a way that is somehow reassuring. He keeps their hands entangled in his lap, fingers twitching in Tucker’s loose grasp. Tucker lets him get his words together--knows that Wash tries to be as articulate as possible when it’s something important. His patience rewards him with a sigh that leaves Wash’s body slumping into his slightly.

“One of us should get to have a good night’s rest,” Wash says finally, slouching further. His shoulders draw up protectively and his hand clenches briefly in Tucker’s. The defensiveness rolls off of him in waves.

Tucker isn’t having it.

“What, and you think that shouldn’t be you?” he says heatedly, trying to keep the sharp note of anger out of his voice. “You deserve sleep, man.”

Wash sits up straight again, spine stiffening in indignation over whatever he thinks Tucker is implying. “It’s not about what I _deserve_ ,” he says stiffly, hand spasming where it’s still cradled protectively in Tucker’s. He relaxes again after a moment, fidgeting. “It’s just facts.”

Tucker lets that settle in the air before them, biting back his own retort. Maybe they should’ve had this conversation already, maybe he should’ve realized, maybe Wash should’ve told him. It doesn’t matter. He sighs and puts his other hand on Wash’s shoulder, turning him so that he’s settled more fully on the bed and they’re facing each other. If the conversation is going to get mushy, Tucker isn’t going to let Wash hide from it. “You don’t think you get to have nice things? Like a cuddle session that lasts more than twenty minutes?”

Wash doesn’t appear to have anything to say to that. He unwraps his hand from Tucker’s, but doesn’t take it back. He fiddles with Tucker’s fingers instead, running the pads of his fingertips over the mixed geography of Tucker’s skin. The places where callouses fade away into softness are especially sensitive, and Tucker doesn’t bother to suppress the shiver that runs through him. Wash is irredeemably thick-headed, Tucker knows. He doesn’t do well with conversations like this, doesn’t react well to having his insecurities dragged into the light. No, the best way to deal with this right now, he muses, is action.

Oh. __Action.__ Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. A very good plan.

Tucker sighs and squeezes Wash’s shoulder, taking a moment to appreciate for the billionth time the firmness of hard-earned muscle, and drags his hand up to cup his cheek softly, thumb brushing over an old scar. He watches Wash’s face, notices how exhausted he looks, the particular shade of purple of the bags under his eyes. Despite this, he looks surprisingly tender and open to whatever Tucker has in mind.

“I bet I know what’ll get you a great night’s sleep,” he says conversationally, leaning in so that his lips ghost over Wash’s chin. He sees Wash’s throat move as he swallows and feels the muscles under his hand tense in anticipation.

When it becomes clear that Tucker isn’t going to elaborate unless prompted, Wash clears his throat. “O-oh?” he manages, voice cracking in Tucker’s favorite way.

“Yup.” Tucker pops the final sound, tipping Wash’s face down to have access to his pale, chapped lips. “I bet,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I can _fuck_  you into the best night’s rest you’ve ever had, baby.” He kisses Wash full on, a hard press of lips.

Wash makes a strangled noise in his throat and then groans, allowing Tucker the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He takes full advantage, pressing forward until he’s practically sitting in Wash’s lap. His free hand drags up over Wash’s chest, pressing to feel how his heart hammers steady beneath his skin. He lets his other hand wander up and tangle in Wash’s hair.

A tug rewards him with another groan, and Wash practically turns to putty beneath him. Tucker grins into the kiss and tugs again teasingly, using Wash’s bonelessness to push him until he flops backwards against the bed with a small, breathless sound that Tucker is happy to devour. Wash’s hands have found their way into the back of Tucker’s sweatpants, hands cupping his ass oh-so-sweetly, and Tucker lets himself be dragged forward so that he’s straddling Wash..

Tucker finally breaks the kiss to chuckle softly. He props himself up on his arms and admires his work. Wash’s lips are swollen and spit-slick, glistening softly in the lamplight. His cheeks are practically glowing, each freckle starkly mapped against the reddened skin, and his eyes tell Tucker all he needs to know about how Wash feels about his plan.

Well, that and the hardness straining against his ass.

“How does that sound?” he asks anyways, pitching his voice low and sultry and running a thumb over those gorgeous lips. “Wanna give it a try? For science?”

“For science? Really?” Wash’s voice comes out mangled, like he’s trying to be serious at a time like this. Tucker grinds down a little, because that’s just unacceptable.

“Good point. Who wants to do that nerdy shit, anyways?”

“ _Tucker _\--”__  Wash groans, arching his hips into the contact and tossing his head back. Tucker latches onto the soft spot beneath his jaw, sucking a dark mark into the soft skin. Wash practically living in his armor means that Tucker can bite and suck and mark him as much as he wants, and Tucker _loves_  it. Wash whimpers, his hips stuttering against Tucker’s ass and as nice as his cock feels through those thin sweats, Tucker is determined to make good on his promise. He pulls away from Wash’s throat, lavishes his tongue over the bruise, and sits up, reluctantly climbing off of Wash.

First, these clothes need to go. Tucker doesn’t bother sleeping with a shirt--only bothers with sleeping in pants because Wash’s screeching in the morning lost its novelty months ago--but Wash will sleep in _layers_  if he’s cold. The weather in Armonia has been mild lately, so when Tucker pulls off Wash’s t-shirt, he’s happy to find nothing but muscle and scarred skin beneath.

Wash cooperates enthusiastically, sitting up to let Tucker yank the shirt over his head, leaving his hair a staticky mess. He reaches for Tucker’s sleep pants and pulls them down hastily, raising an eyebrow when Tucker’s cock bounces to attention in front of him. “No underwear?” he comments, though he sounds anything but surprised.

Tucker hastily shoves the pants off of him as he works at the knot on Wash’s sweatpants.“The boys need to breathe,” he says airily, completely unashamed. “ _Jesus fucking Christ,_ why do you tie your sweatpants?” he groans in frustration, finally untangling whatever soldier’s knot Wash has inflicted on his drawstrings. He doesn’t give him time to answer, just shoves the pants and Wash’s underwear down in one go and tugs until they, too, come off entirely.

Once fully naked, they each take a moment just to admire each other. No matter how many times they do this, the novelty of seeing Wash like this, all pale skin, scars, and freckles, never wears off. The way Wash’s gray eyes darken with lust tell him a fair bit about how Wash finds him, too, and it never ceases to amaze him that this Greek statue of a man finds _him _,__  with his less than perfect musculature and odd scarring over his lower belly attractive. It floors him, to see the _want_  in Wash’s eyes, and he surges forward, drawing him into another searing kiss, letting the sensation of skin-to-skin contact tingle through them both. Wash’s kisses are sweet, lingering things that leave Tucker dizzy. He could kiss Wash for hours. They _have_  spent hours just making out.

But tonight, Tucker is on a mission.

He breaks the kiss reluctantly, resists the urge to lean back in and swallow down Wash’s parting whimper, and presses a hand to the center of his chest. “Lay down,” he says, voice husky.

Wash nods, already worked up just from a couple of kisses and some brief frottage, and does as he’s told, expression dazed. Tucker scoots his way down his body, pressing his lips in open-mouthed kisses against Wash’s chest and stomach, tongue massaging skin scarred and unblemished indiscriminately, and stops right before where Wash is hard and leaking already. He sucks briefly at the crease between his hip and his thigh and Wash groans again, back arching off the bed.

“Tucker,” he gasps, pushing himself up onto his elbows to stare down his body at the sight of Tucker between his thighs.

“Right here,” Tucker soothes, wrapping his hand loosely around Wash’s cock and giving him a few slow pumps. He makes sure to hold Wash’ gaze as he lowers his mouth to the tip of his leaking cock, his hand squeezing the base lightly before he releases it to grab his hips. “Gonna take care of you,” he says, before wrapping his lips around the tip and sucking hard.

Wash practically yelps, losing control over his hips for a moment, but Tucker’s hands keep his hips pinned to the bed and he doesn’t get very far. Tucker rubs the flat of his tongue up and down the thick vein on the underside of Wash’s cock, slowly taking more of him. He eats up the noises Wash makes for him, the pants and groans that he’s too worked up to try and stifle. He feels the sheets shift beneath him as Wash fists his hands into them and can’t help but feel smug. Yeah, he gives awesome head.

One of his hands moves as his mouth works its way to the base of Wash’s cock, meandering fingers pressing into the sensitive spots in his upper thighs, behind his balls, over his perineum. He nudges Wash’s thighs open wider as he settles into a rhythm and presses lightly against the pucker of his ass. Wash arches up suddenly again, but Tucker is prepared for it and lets his jaw slacken a bit, lets Wash fuck his mouth a little before he grasps his hips with both hands again, hollowing his cheeks as he drags his mouth up and off his cock with a filthy slurp.

Tucker scrambles to the edge of a bed for a moment, fishing for the bottle of lube that he keeps wedged between the wall and the mattress, and wastes no time uncapping the bottle. He pauses to take in Wash sprawled over his bed, fists clenched in the sheets, which have been tugged askew, looking absolutely _wrecked _.__  Just the way Tucker likes it. He drizzles some lube over his left hand and crawls back up Wash’s body. sliding his clean hand behind Wash’s head to pull him into another bruising kiss. He coaxes one of Wash’s legs around his hip, smearing traces of lube against his knee, and leans over him.

Tucker sucks insistently at Wash’s bottom lip as he circles his entrance with a lubricated finger, catches Wash’s moan as he slowly presses inside, dragging his finger in slow circles against his inner walls. Wash is so incredibly _sensitive_ , responsive under his ministrations, and Tucker keeps every little cry secret and safe in his own mouth. He adds a second finger and thrusts them in and out for a moment. Wash’s cock is leaking pre-cum all over himself, he’s so hard for this, so hard for _him._  When Tucker finally angles his fingers just right to press tight circles into his prostate, Wash arches right up against him. There’s a moment where their cocks slide against each other so perfectly that Tucker can’t help but rut against Wash for a moment, relishing the slick slide of pre-cum and the hard heat pressed against him.

They could both come just like this, Wash with Tucker’s fingers buried three-deep in his ass now, teasing his prostate just enough, but Tucker still isn’t done. He pulls away from Wash entirely, making sure to brush against his prostate one more time just to watch him twitch, and unhooks Wash’s leg from his hip.

“How do you wanna do this?” he asks, voice low and breathless. He runs a hand up Wash’s thigh, squeezing lightly. “I could hook these gorgeous legs over my shoulders, fuck you nice and deep, huh? How’s that sound?” he murmurs, catching Wash’s gaze. Wash’s mouth drops open in a silent moan, his eyes dark and pleading. Tucker feels powerful when he can make Wash look like that.

“Or,” he continues, resting both of his hands on Wash’s hips and rubbing circles into the sensitive spots just inside the crest of bone, “I could get you on your hands and knees for me, huh? Let me look at that gorgeous ass of yours as I’m fucking it. I won’t be able to look at your pretty face that way, though, so you’ll have to make some noise for me, yeah?” He presses hard against a particularly dense cluster of freckles above Wash’s left hip and Wash gasps, tossing his head back. His whole body is a taught line under Tucker’s touch.

“Yeah? That sounds good?” Tucker confirms, drinking in the sight before him. God, Wash is so beautiful when he’s like this, open and vulnerable. He’s so beautiful when he just gives himself to Tucker, lets him make him feel good, and Tucker loves nothing more than making Wash feel good. He watches the ripple of muscle as Wash rolls over onto his stomach to get himself in position. Tucker grabs his pillow and settles it beneath Wash’s chest for now, and then leans back just to appreciate the image of Wash on his hands and knees, ass up in the air.

Wash has an ass that’s a goddamned piece of art, in Tucker’s opinion. He’s always been an ass man, well, and a boobs man and an abs man and… there are too many things on people that make them attractive, in his opinion, but Wash’s ass is probably the best of all of them. Years of physical training and running around in power armor have done Wash well, and the freckles are just adorable. He doesn’t even try to resist the urge to lean forward and draw messy paths between the clusters of freckles on Wash’s left ass cheek, squeezing the right one appreciatively.

“T-tucker,” Wash gasps in surprise. “That--ah..! That _tickles_ ,” he hisses, body jerking as Tucker licks a stripe up his crack. Tucker doesn’t respond, just pulls those beautiful cheeks apart to press a single, open-mouthed kiss against Wash’s entrance. It gets him a gasp and a moan, and Wash’s head dipping down a fraction. Tucker takes a moment to gaze tenderly at the exposed part of the back of Wash’s neck, the mess of scars surgical and jagged alike that radiate from his implantation site. Wash doesn’t show the back of his neck to anyone else outside of armor, and Tucker cherishes that trust like nothing else. He lets his expression soften, even though Wash can’t see it, as he reaches underneath the mattress for a condom and gets himself ready, slicking himself up with lube and smearing the extra around Wash’s entrance, just in case. Wash jumps beneath the brush of his fingers.

“S’cold,” he mutters, although he doesn’t sound upset by it. Tucker files that information away for later consideration.

“You ready?” he asks instead, smoothing a hand up Wash’s back. Wash doesn’t respond verbally, just raises his hips higher and pushes back against the space between them. Tucker gets the hint and presses his cock against the tight pucker of Wash’s ass. He thrusts his hips forward a little, letting himself slide against Wash’s crack a little before really lining himself up and pushing forward, bottoming out in one slow, smooth thrust.

“Ah!” Wash gasps, his arms bending a little at the elbow. “Y-yeah, like that,” he babbles.

“Yeah?” Tucker says, grinning as he gives Wash a moment to adjust, then sets a slow, hard rhythm. “You like that, baby?” he goads. Wash only moans in response.

Tucker spreads Wash’s ass again, holding him open so he can watch his cock disappear into that tight hole over and over, increasing his pace as Wash thrusts back against him insistently.

“Fuck, Wash,” he gasps. “You’re so fucking tight. So fucking good for me,” he murmurs, squeezing his ass a few times.

“Tucker, I need…” Wash pants, shoulders trembling. He gets derailed by a particularly hard thrust, the rest of his request dissolving into a long, stuttering moan.

“Oh?” Tucker says, leaning a little more into Wash, pressing deeper with each thrust. “You need what? Gotta use your words, baby,” he coos, bringing his hands back to wrap around Wash’s hips.

“I need,” Wash starts, “You to stop calling me that,” he says between gasps.

“Not gonna happen,” Tucker says immediately. “You’re too cute,” He angles his hips a little and pulls Wash’s hips flush against him so he can pound into him even harder. “This what you need?” he asks smugly, unable to keep himself from smirking as long as Wash can’t see.

Wash lets out a machine-gun burst of noises as Tucker’s cock presses past his prostate on each thrust with this new angle, his arms wobbling. “Y-yes!” he practically shouts. “Right there, please, Tucker…”

Tucker feels a rush of desire crash through him so quickly it registers as pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. He moans and slicks a hand up Wash’s back, pushing between his shoulder blades until Wash gets the hint and lets his arms give out beneath him. “Please?” he repeats, panting. “I like that, baby,” he says, threading his fingers through Wash’s sweat-damp hair and squeezing, just relishing the feel of those thick strands in his grip. “What else do you wana ask me for?”

Wash squirms beneath him, body shuddering, arching further, pushing his ass up even higher-- _fuck_ , his ass looks so _good_ , it should be illegal, Tucker swears. He’s close, Tucker knows, thighs trembling where they rest against the front his own. “I wanna--” he chokes out, jerking a shaking hand between his legs and wrapping it around his own leaking cock.

Unacceptable.

Tucker lets his hips stutter to a pause and grabs Wash’s wrist, pulling it away from himself. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, leaning forward with Wash’s wrist in his hand and pinning it to the bed. He presses against the length of Wash’s back and nips at a cluster of freckles on his right shoulder blade. “Said I was gonna take care of you,” he says against his skin. He keeps his hand over Wash’s, lacing their fingers together as he starts to move again, building back up to his previous pace.

Like this, bent over Wash’s body and pressed flush against his back, he can feel everything, every shudder of pleasure that jolts through Wash’s body. He can feel the moans start deep in his chest before they actually make it past Wash’s lips. It makes him feel like they’re connected on some molecular level, not just in the kinetic drag of his cock in Wash’s ass, the bump of his prostate on every other snap of his hips.

It’s the most intimate Tucker has ever felt with another person before. It makes him feel both powerful and terrified.

“ _Please _,__  Tucker--” Wash groans beneath him. He’s beyond the point of being self-conscious about begging. Tucker put him in this state. “Oh _god _,__  I wanna cum so bad,” he cries, his hand tightening in Tucker’s.

How can he resist Wash when he sounds that good begging for it? He doesn’t want to let go of Wash’s hand, so he does his best to reposition Wash’s hips with the other. Wash gets the hint and shifts around a bit until he’s gasping and melting into the pillow beneath his chest. Tucker knows he’s found the right angle when Wash tightens around him, squeezing his cock so perfectly. “Tucker...Tucker, I,” he repeats, the words slurring from his mouth like a prayer.

“Go on,” Tucker encourages, throwing more of his weight into his thrusts, reluctantly releasing Wash’s hand so he can sit back up on his knees to grab his hips and pound into him. “Go on and cum on my cock,” he says, dropping his voice low and hoarse.

Wash does. He _does_ \--he cums at Tucker’s words and it’s the hottest fucking thing, Wash _cumming on command_. The tension that had leeched from his body snaps back all at once as he clenches down hard around Tucker’s cock. Their ankles hook together as Wash’s thighs tense and shake, and Tucker can’t see it from this angle, but he can picture the white splatters all the way up Wash’s collarbones.

That mental image does it for him, and he gasps, hips stuttering as he chases bliss, collapsing against Wash’s back again. Wash’s knees give out this time, and he lays there for a while, letting Wash’s still-twitching hole milk his orgasm as he groans and pants against the back of Wash’s neck, pressing careful kisses to the patches of skin unmarred by scars and trauma.

They lay there for a long while. Tucker would be happy to fall asleep just like this, Wash’s firm body a suitable mattress, but Wash squirms beneath him after a moment and he acquiesces, rolling to the side. His chest is still heaving, the final fingers of bliss coursing through his body as he pulls out and disposes of the condom. Wash is flat on his stomach, his face turned towards him, so Tucker cups his chin and pulls him into a soft kiss, too tired and spent to make it filthy.

“That,” he pants once they part. “Was fucking incredible.”

Wash’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin, and Tucker is glad that he hasn’t caught his breath yet, because expressions like that make him forget how to breathe. “Thank you,” he says. Tucker rolls his eyes--he _hates_  it when Wash thanks him for sex, for making him feel good--but Wash keeps going. “I uh,” he starts, clearing his throat and moving to sit up carefully. “Didn’t know I could do that,” he finishes sheepishly.

“Hmm?” Tucker’s brain is still melted. “Didn’t know you could what?”

Wash flushes so quickly that Tucker is impressed. All the blood can move to his face that quickly, and yet his fingers and toes are always icy. “You know,” Wash says vaguely, gesturing to himself. He’s got drying cum caked all up his stomach and, yep, a few smears on his collarbones as well.

“It was fucking hot,” Tucker responds, sitting up and fixing his dreads in their bun. He would love to just fall asleep right where they lay, ruined sheets be damned, but he knows Wash better than to even suggest it. Although, he reminds himself, they’ve never actually shared a bed before, so maybe…

“I ruined your sheets,” Wash notes, glancing down at the bed in embarrassed alarm. “And also maybe your pillow.”

Tucker sighs. “I knew it,” he mutters. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, grabbing Wash’s hand as he stands up. Tucker grabs a new sheet and pillowcase from his closet while Wash wipes himself down and strips the bed. So disgustingly, wonderfully _domestic _.__

“By the way,” Tucker says casually as he snaps his arms to unfold the new sheet. “We’re talking about this in the morning.”

“About what?” Wash says nervously, maneuvering Tucker’s pillow into a clean cover.

“About this _thing_  you have with self-denial. And not in the sexy way!” He finishes tucking a corner of the bed and spins around to point a finger at Wash. He pauses there for consideration. “Although, we can also talk about the sexy way. But don’t think you’re getting out of this conversation just because we had some mind-blowing sex,” Tucker warns him as he finishes fixing the sheets and flops into bed.

Wash gulps and squeezes the pillow in his hands a little too tightly.

“Well?” Tucker says, stretching out over the bed. “Get over here and go the fuck to sleep.”

It takes a while, but after they shift themselves into the most comfortable position, Wash falls asleep faster than Tucker would’ve expected, curled into his arms. Tucker doesn’t last much longer.

It’s the best sleep either of them have gotten since they crash landed on Chorus.

**Author's Note:**

> /flings self into the sun good byE


End file.
